Writer's Block
by kakashifangrl1012
Summary: After the close of an exciting case, Castle has writer's block. He shouldn't; all kinds of weird stuff happened on the case. Somehow he ends up looking through Beckett's computer for inspiration... and happens across a little website called fanfiction.


**So, what with Castle being a writer and all, I couldn't resist this little one shot. All writers have to have a beginning somewhere, right? Kudos to all you aspiring writers out there!**

--

To us

The writers of fan fiction

And with any luck, the novelists of tomorrow.

--

Rick Castle was bored.

And when Rick Castle was bored, things had a habit of getting out of hand.

They had closed a particularly interesting case the previous day, and everyone was exhausted. He had gone home and slept for far too long, and when he finally woke up, it was nearly noon. So, he dragged himself out of bed, feeling extremely thankful that his mother and daughter had made plans to go shopping that day; otherwise they would be telling him how lazy he was.

He ate a bowl of Captain Crunch, read the funnies, and finally opened his laptop to begin writing.

But everything was blank.

So he sat and thought for a while, figuring that something had to come to him eventually; he was Richard Castle, after all. He thought about their case, the end apprehension of the bad guy, and how totally badass a certain detective had looked while tackling and then cuffing said criminal.

Still nothing.

He decided to go for a drive, thinking that it would clear his head. He drove around the city aimlessly for a while and turned the radio up loud, singing along occasionally. Good thing he never had any ambition to become a vocalist; his singing was truly awful.

Before long, his car had magically led him to the precinct; maybe he would find some inspiration there. He hummed as he entered the office; it wasn't as busy, but crime never sleeps, so neither do the cops. He sat down at Beckett's desk.

Detective Kate Beckett. Now there was someone who challenged him, and that was something he hadn't had in a long time. A true challenge. Writing had always come to him naturally, putting a pen to paper was as simple to him as breathing or walking. It was a reflex.

But he didn't take it for granted. He had worked hard to get where he was, to get noticed. He remembered the days where he would write a story, put the first few chapters in an envelope, and send it to every publisher he could find. He would pray that someone would take notice, but usually no one did.

He shuddered just thinking about it.

Writing had always been a constant in his life…

He looked around. Those who were here knew who he was and didn't pay much attention to him. Good. Hopefully, they wouldn't notice him messing around with Kate's desk.

He opened a few drawers; most contained papers, but he came across one with a bar of dark chocolate, half-eaten, hidden under a stack of files. Very clever, Detective Beckett. He would be sure to put something about that in his book.

He shook the mouse on the computer and the screen blinked to life. It was already on. He looked behind him nervously. Was she already here?

Oh well. If she was, he was already in enough trouble. He might as well explore her computer.

The internet icon caught his eye, and he double clicked it. What was her homepage?

Google. Not surprising, but it would've been fun if it was something more interesting. Like, say, eHarmony?

He switched the homepage to said website and then flipped through her recently visited sites.

Google, google, the department website, google. Ooh…

Fanfiction.

He hadn't been on there in years. Since what, college? He suddenly wondered if his penname would still work. He found the homepage. Everything was totally reformatted. He eagerly clicked on books and looked for his name. 5,479. Not bad. Microscopic compared to Harry Potter's almost 426,000, but still not bad.

He found the log in page and typed out his penname and password. At least, he thought he remembered the password. Enter.

"Castle!"

His head snapped up to find Beckett glaring at him from across the room, coffee cup in hand. She stalked over to the desk. She put the coffee on her desk and threw her jacket on the edge before facing him.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked menacingly.

He realized that he had backed into the chair as far as he could.

"I was just looking for some inspiration. Hit major writer's block," he tapped the side of his head, "It won't seem to go away."

She glanced at the screen. "So looking at pop-ups is going to clear your head?" she asked sardonically.

"It isn't a pop-up, it's fanfiction," he replied defensively. "It was on your site history; you don't know what it is?"

"I thought it was--," she stopped in the middle of her sentence, "You've been looking through my computer? Get out of the chair, Castle," she commanded.

"Alright, alright," he turned back to the screen, "Just let me…"

He had been so preoccupied with the annoyed detective that he hadn't realized; his account had popped up. This page had been redone as well; there were all kinds of headings that he hadn't seen before. One in particular caught his attention.

Inbox: (1)

He clicked on it.

"Castle," Beckett warned.

"Just hang on a minute," he said, keeping his eyes on the screen.

Inbox

Date sent. Five days after his first book was released. Years ago.

_To: Derek Storm_

His penname. Who would have thought it would become so well known.

_From: Catherine Hannah_

He remembered her.

He had spent hours talking about writing with her. She had reviewed one of his stories one day, and he had come to rely on her expert criticism. She had never written anything herself, but she loved to read, and always gave him advice on his writing. He told her his dream of becoming a novelist, and she had encouraged him to go for it. They had never met in person, never even knew each other's real names, but somehow, they had become great friends.

The message was only one sentence.

_Derek Storm, I knew you'd make it._

He stared at the words for a moment, and suddenly, he had an idea.

"Gotta go," he said hurriedly and stood, racing around Beckett and out the doors.

She looked after him for a moment, trying to allow her brain to process what just happened. She wondered if she would ever figure out why he was so weird. Maybe it was a writer thing. Sitting in her now thankfully unoccupied chair, she examined the monitor. He had been in such a hurry that he didn't close it.

_From: Catherine Hannah_

No, she decided, closing the page and searching her desk for her stash of chocolate, his mind was too hard to read.

--

**I'll leave that last bit up to your imagination. **

**I haven't watched the new episode yet, but I'm going to tonight! Thanks for reading; review if you wish!**


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